My Brother Died Yesterday

To Joe, one out of many heroes who participated in the liberation of my country. Your sacrifice will never be forgotten.

My back hurts. My head hurts. My whole body is aching. I still cannot believe that I survived. People say that I am lucky but they don't know what they are talking about. I feel like all my bones are broken, that I will never be able to walk again. I am in such a pain that I am unable to do anything, not even think. I would like to go outside. From the window, I can see Bobby and Teddy playing football. I would like to join them and show them how to throw a ball. Bobby is throwing that ball like a girl and Teddy... well, Teddy is only twelve years old but the earlier he learns, the better.

Sitting apart, hidden from the sun, Mom is knitting and Dad is reading the newspaper. They both seem like an old couple, and yet they still have some features of their splendid youth. I like when my mother smiles; her face enlightens and she always seems younger. My father scarcely smiles. Actually, he does smile on pictures. He believes that success is all about the appearance. So, he smiles. He smiles for the camera. He smiles when he speaks on the radio – believe me, you can hear his smile when he is talking. But when he is with us, his lips stay fatally flat.

I like my family. Of course, I do. I just feel like I do not belong to this family. They are all so serious, they are all so ambitious. I am, myself, a little ambitious. I would like to become a writer. I have always loved playing with words. The possibilities are endless and I think I will never get tired of writing. My father says that this career goal is despicable. "What's poorer than a writer?" he says. The only thing that matters to him is money. Money, money, money. But I do not complain. If he did not have that much money, I would have never been cured from all the diseases I have had since a very early age. However, I think he could value the intellectual wealth as much as the material one. I love writing, I love learning about history, and literature. I believe this knowledge is important. My father does not agree, and yet he lets me write. He does not give me that much freedom but as I am not his eldest, he puts much pressure on my brother than on me.

Joe – or should I say Lieutenant Joseph – is not at home today. He has not come home for a while now. He is in England. He enrolled in the Air Force soon after the war broke out. He is a very good pilot. The Germans do not have any chance with a pilot like him. I am pretty sure he will come back home, prouder than ever, after having neutralized hundreds of enemies. When my mother sends letters asking him when he will come back, he always jokes saying that he will not come back until he had "given that good old Goering a kick in the butt." And I am pretty sure he could do such a thing. I just hope he will not let his pride blind him. Since I have been awarded with the Navy and Marine Corps Medal, and the Purple Heart, he feels the need to come back from Europe with a few medals himself. After the war, he wants to start a political career. My father has trained him his whole life to become a typical politician: hypocrite yet lovable. He is the prodigal son. He is the one who will be elected to the House of Representatives and to the Senate. He is the one who will be member of a government. He is the one who will be the first Catholic President of the United States. If he comes back home with a few medals on his jacket, people will love him and will thank him for his service. If he comes home without, his existence will forever be in my shadow, me, the war hero who survived to a Japanese attack in the Pacific.

People do not understand how much we lose when we are awarded with such medals. We lose our sanity. We lose our hope in humanity. Some lose their lives, and are awarded posthumously...

A car has just arrived in our alley. I do not think we are expecting visitors today. My mother seems surprised as well, she glances at my father, but he does not seem to know who they are either. Two men – two priests – come out of the car. Why would two priests...